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End of a blog

I have nothing to add.
even ugly Epoque is a blog over.
I want to inaugurate a new era, much less ugly, but if you want, just rainy.
now here.

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Il fait bobo

I did not understand very well that day is today. should better look out. I'll go out soon.

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But deception amoureuse c'est moi

the contents of the previous post dates back to last year.
recognize myself in what I wrote in part. I recognize there structurally, but then circumstances change.
are now definitely paratactic.

someone suggested that I write to myself that I would write to you. but writing does not give him the same satisfaction. and see this time it is not insulting, in fact.
but fair. if you think that eventually the memory is just that. affixed to forget, I mean. and is not a paradox, is something that has a specific meaning, but now I'm not going to explain. now and again. just a bit 'of intelligence to understand. and my average reader has, of intelligence. otherwise you get tired, to follow a dog like me.

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now, I've played in recent times often a phrase, a bit 'mucciniana but not devoid of charm, which goes something like this: "one thinks of life as something to come, and instead Life is now. " the point is that young people perceive life as something to come, because in some ways this is so, because our skin and our thoughts really chasing a form and substance that we have not. and when one begins to think of life as something that already exists, it is here, good or bad it is, then it means that it is no longer young, it means that at least has begun to tread the path of adulthood.

change the subject. I still weigh the fatigue tests of a life than I did, but especially those who have not done much to throw a banality, a phrase.
but it's true, I think, and I say: why the fuck, one, then, should never ask the opinion others? why the important issues of our existence must be scanned from the examination and perhaps a night's sleep, a cutlet, a drag on his cigarette? or a withdrawal from an ATM? or a coffee in paper cup, drunk walk?

always within a day of tense and over-the-walls of this city, you do not know how many and how many times I can think of something to write, something I say to look tonight and I write, I write it down. but then the thoughts have been accumulated and uncovering unable to add up as Christ commands, then multiply-as Christ commanded the loaves and fishes, and soon became one of the other powers (you want to put the fun of eating fish with bread and bread with the fish, instead of either one or the other), and then here's an idea that in four four eight (or, rather, four in the fourth two hundred fifty-six) turns in some wonderful nothing, that is to say a few issues so complicated that nobody can count it.

nothing new for those who know these pages imaginary.
forward, therefore, with my share of anything new. I was going to say rather than dose per diem while in fact the my wickedness is not even granted the benefit of consistent, everyday. and is known to be virtuous in vice and evil, so as to exceed in virtue. while I-I grew up on bread, appetizer, first, main course, dessert, fruit, coffee, ammazzacaffè, water, wine, drinks, cover charge and a tip-it is an angelic mediocrity.

this is not true, because I rather be facing into a serious, disciplined, full of good intentions and practical solutions, quickly and effectively. a being able to wait and be patient when it also the case. a being able to settle for bread and bread and fish and seafood.
and not easy for me to admit that I, that being. to be so, now finally someone who knows what to do and especially what he wants. become one that becomes.

one who gets up after all, that all things work, study, addresses, talks, investigates, uncovers, reacts, remedies, or bank. a bread bread and wine to wine, just to get back to the ingredients of the sacred recipe.

cries anechoic doctor for my burning throat.
and write badly, I think I was fifteen. not that that much has improved over time, indeed. but at least I realized over time that rarely knows the urgent need to stage a masterpiece.
and oh well, write shit, if needed, just to satisfy the question, really? we were really there? really was I? us? you? I did not believe even for a moment to be there.

once knew better words, and the apples had a different skin color. I broke out the pocket, I went to the cafe and when I came out I had some ideas to put them in your bag, because my head is not there they were. I did not want anything and everything.
tonight, however, there is a light in my room a bit 'rough and weak. I have no genius girl fragrant, are incapable of choosing curtains and candles, and everything that goes on around me gray. this is not to say anything sad. myths is that I spread on the walls and I have no music worth listening. I have no one to think about. tonight in my room there is only one person, and I am, and I read, I write, I'm mostly a nod, and the time behind my effort to Starmie.
once knew better words, and my hands went straight to the point, when it came to writing. if I reread them now I do not like me but this in no way means that I have improved.

is true is always true that when you do a new thing is so complicated that it will necessarily be bad.
that this phrase must have written picasso, somewhere, was in the epigraph to my high school final examination. who looked at me, of that little book did not like anything, and there is nothing to wonder, after all. work was honest enough, but I had not been in years-of-school honest enough to be able to sustain. quell'epigrafe sounded like an apology, not a excusat petita.

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mica ends an era when you realize it right away.

spaghetti tonight oil and chilli. I do not have garlic or something that looks like.

time always ends up a bit 'before and a bit' after it appears. Yes, a little 'before and a bit' after the same time. is the simultaneity of becoming, so to speak. the simultaneity of becoming I did my thesis, more or less.

but the times when I'm finished doing a thesis was something to brag about.

time ago I was talking with a colleague at work-work that will leave soon and that my colleague has already left, and I did notice this, I remarked that I always say that I graduated late.

- Late compared to what?, She asks

- late in comparison to most people, I reply

- and you are sure that these people have understood something of what happened to them in the meantime?

- I do not know, I answer, in fact, I guess not, I say, but it's a little consolation to the fact that those people will begin to do the job of their lives with many years ahead of me.

- and why this thing should be an advantage?

- so do you why, I say.

but my colleague has reason to doubt, and later, somehow, I'll explain why.

back to the simultaneity of becoming. I have already talked about this, but it does not matter. I like to talk about that, so at best I'll be the only person who reads this post.

there un'indovinello / joke about the police saying that the police are always around in pairs because one can read and write the other knows. leaving out the charm of the paradox, one might say that the writer necessarily read what I write, but it is also clear that the reader writes the act of reading.

in the meantime I finished eating my spaghetti and chili oil, and I say that I mezz'etto to throw more money without doing a damage. will make it-indeed, I have already remedied with a faux-filet rare.

I said, my colleague was right, why do the same job for life must be so boring, so it's best to start as late as possible.

era ended when the soundtrack to listen again and you realize the emptiness that resonates.

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Immoral action is important, men are too distracted by things that affect lives and future ghosts. The Act II era

The tale of Adam and Ev to was the last album of my life.

I was 18.

What happened then?

Nothing, in fact.

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dell'irriproducibilità

resurfaced in recent days to remember my conscience that I did not remember.

each replacing the previous one, and dismissed again into oblivion, perhaps-who knows-forever. so now I am very aware of the last memories surfaced, and I know it's going to replace one that already do not remember anymore. if the concept is not clear.

who knows me knows that I will not speak of events, but of empty boxes, even tonight. Suffice to say that those memories are things to remind me that I was and that, in some cases, I no longer want to be. more reason for not disclosing to third parties satisfied, even though it is not, or at least would not, be censored.

a co-worker who was older than me, told me today: this is the age.

referring to my age.

do not know whether this age, and whether this was also the age, the question is: what age?

but that question to my colleague I have not done, the answer would be redundant, would create an embarrassment, would have emptied the conversation, because the player was right there, in that unspoken.

I, for my part, still do not remember now-significantly-whether before or after I told another fellow my age, it would be nice to have twenty. rather: I only said: eh, have twenty.

but I know well that's not true. when I think it would be nice to have twenty years, I imagine the monstrous combination of my twenty years with my head I have now. the advantage of twenty years with a head of thirty is even obvious: the legal age applications, opportunities and rights that the solidity and concreteness of a more mature brain would know to turn into reality and effects. maybe.

however, resolve the problem pretending to be younger by birth would take her thirst with ham.

that we would be trying to control an identity by installing another bugs bugs identity. and then, to do things as they should, we should tamper with the document.

changing the subject, without changing it for real, between yesterday and today I became clear idea. thanks to the words of a friend.

goodnight to the musicians.

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The sexual act in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

there are people likely to get away from your body to re-enter soon after as a guest. metemsomatosi is a kind of mirror, someone rightly calls narcissism. but never that here we deal with psychoanalysis.

here has always been the corner of the repudiation, not of excusationes petita tarallucci and especially of bread, wine, salami Caesar and to God. and if "Caesar" is probably the name of a grocer, "god" was that of a rock star but would be well on a pornodivo.

back to us, so to speak. here is the dell'autoespropriazione bingo, the last bastion of a language of the three cards for thousands of years is now going out of fashion. and now here's a process without courts and without lawyers, with the accused lying anywhere in a fetal position.

wolf sorcerer, a flirty half-moon nights of the Were-Rabbit, thief of tiny hollow hours, seemed to have taken another of his shots harmful, unless it (or rather: because) at the climax, when already holding the bag the jaws sharpened and yellow irises in the dark for rinfilare way to the shelter, they chased the night watchman and they shot him shots of salt, causing some wounds so painful to put your finger in it makes no difference. and now he licks his wounds with great enjoyment autocannibalistico, and with a bowling ball hanging from the black pearl that divine grace is found in place of the heart.

because, once back at the hideout, the den, he opened the bag and there is perhaps in chickpeas, perhaps money, chocolate, stale residue of a very old witch's shoes, or maybe nothing at all.

from wikipedia:

A particular form of narcissism is linked to new technologies, and the web , narcissism is defined digital similar in some respects to ' egosurfing , which is characterized by an immoderate cult of personality , to appear and perform on web with their writings, photos, videos and messages; accomplices Web 2.0 applications that allow any user to create self-produced content with ease. For some authors, such as Andrew Keen (in his book The Cult of the Amateur), the participative web made of blog, audio-video-photo sharing (self) twitter, mashup facilitates the creation of self-produced, self-citations that are gratifying to note the digital narcissism. The individual narcissism often connects to the cultural, Jean Baudrillard, in a society so consumed the individual tends to flee to a consummation of their image, with forms of denial of 'otherness affogondola in self-complacency. This definition seems similar to that of postmodernism, where, as Baudrillard, it is necessary that this imago is sold to be content with disease risk, while the narcissistic writing, can be "discovered" and therefore can be recovered as reparation for injury, damage suffered the indignities experienced by people in the real world - by giving this small portable display, a psychological experience with a product similar diary in which the subject can withdraw, to overcome, to repair the injury without this product should become a fetish: returns narcissistic wound in the context of its elaboration and creative.

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The asshole of the night

for years not worked at night. I had forgotten that there is light, because it's salty air, and all that stuff, do not you remember, I did not remember that were so. are things that I have described elsewhere and I do not want to repeat.
weigh your fingers and there is little you can do here. and perhaps there is little to say.
I holed up in a corner where nobody will come to disturb me. maybe I'm hiding too well, the risk of not finding myself either. I'd like to tell the truth as well, which I dig out someone. why would you hide, then? Is it not because someone Stan, which we hide?
unless the hide is not a way to procrastinate. sooner or later those who try will get tired of looking for us, leave the field, and then we come out. but it will still go to hide somewhere else, that will emerge?
but if the goal is to be found, that those who tried to stop looking for could be a problem. because if we were playing hide and no one more try, the game ends. and we find ourselves hiding like idiots, and maybe as time passes and make the end of Japanese soldiers in the mountains of Mindanao for decades, unaware that the war was over.

and who never want to find me tomorrow morning at 7, then when I get out of here and the sun will not be checked again.
who want to find me on the subway. each passenger will be someone who is hiding at that time. someone who is hiding in a subway car.
or someone who goes into hiding in some corner office, as I am doing tonight, tonight.
and when I come home I'm going to hide on the third floor of the mansion, in the room, behind a window, under a blanket. into a deep sleep, I hide. sleep and weight of the flavor of a giant tear amniotic.
I'll be a fetus that is comfortable there, which is not to be born, at least for the time of a dream, maybe two dreams, no more. because then you are born, there is little to be done.
and as said this, when you're Born You Can No Longer Hide. Oh well, I never liked having to do this quote.
in short, we are all here. Who we look for is there, because he who seeks finds. is a saying that applies to things as to people.
in while I was found by a recipient, who was called by Spain because tirassi shit out of her and her family, engineers in a rough asshole of the world, not far from Cordoba.

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raining continuously for three days to Sparigi

raining continuously for three days to Sparigi.

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says you zen

be gone. Nico, I say.

not see him again for days. in fact, he said that he would leave at the end of the month. we.

my roommate and I started I did not notice anything. he left without saying goodbye, tutt'affatto. I must not be his much remains in my heart, I, as a person. it's definitely worth, and maybe he will do his part.

party will be in silence. have emptied her room with rubber stoppers inserted in the ears, salty air of the morning. I was not there, I was in Rome, probably.

in Rome, to sleep for the last time in the red room, the yellow house. the house and the room of ten years of life, round round. last time, the second last night, a few months ago, it was sadder.

now the context is already disheartened, those walls are not breached.

the trip kept me away from the mess room Sparigi. we must do something to stem it. I said, the room is a true reflection of the head of its inhabitants, it is even obvious.

in my rooms there are never any pictures or posters that have hung myself. There are never many books in sight. there are always musical instruments scattered here and there.

there is always some object uncomfortable, a bed that squeaks, a corner chipped.

making up something to eat or a cup now empty.

a bulb that does not work, or that emits a light too harsh.

'm going to smooth out the keys from the blacksmith.

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the heart of the night, whether we like it or not, the severity of hours and years you feel a bit 'more cynical than usual, and there must not fall into the trap, do not get to seek a solution or draw a conclusion. Once you learn this, life whole becomes a bit easier.

but one thing is certain: if you can write at night, and it is the day most of which you can work, and if writing is that you think is working and you stop to think in some way, then it is almost inevitable that thoughts about time and space-mine, at least-are usually a bit 'unwieldy and spiroid.

hence, the urgent need to find day work of thoughts and a number of occupations in the evening and night voted dépense.

the deal is complicated, because it takes courage to work with thoughts, and dépense free time it takes a even more. and then is also complicated because the work is a vice, is a powerfully addictive drug. but be careful here, because in reality the disturbing aspect is not so much in the work itself, as the need to earn or otherwise obtain in some way the means to survive.

also to work with thoughts, as well as the courage it takes the certainty of survival. the key-which technically do not know what-is engaged there in a stoic balance between certainty and courage, and mica is easy, because it weakens the certainty silently courage, which is logically linked in glove with uncertainty.

rest of the uncertainty may also discourage, but this is definitely a different kettle of fish, which is worth not to wear, at least for the moment.

perhaps to avoid the mistake is to ask themselves in a state of uncertainty to fuel their courage. and it is wrong because uncertainty exists always and everywhere, whether you like it or not.

the first step towards resolving the dilemma coincides with the commitment to answer the following question:

am sure of my courage?

no one has asked you to get here.

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Six Characters in Search One of auroras



Nature woke me up at 9.

days ago a colleague told me just that, told me that I can not bear to be an alarm to wake her, and that would always and only when he is waking up the body so requests.

I went downstairs and I looked out on the terrace, the sun was so clear that I immediately thought of Martin, the one with the voice de uma I note, with Martin and the first time we met , right on the terrace. From there, including Martin and my two current roommates that soon they will go away were six characters that populated the Mansion Lilacs in these twelve months. Six characters in search of something in this city but all six, as it happens, sooner or later sucked from other lives, other emergencies, some nostalgia, some wishful thinking.

As of yesterday, is a year that I live in this crooked house. This morning I woke up at 9, woke me up in nature, but noiselessly so, so, say, natural.

I was facing down on the terrace and the sun was clear. Check Samuel which is not included in counts of roommates, it is a kind of guest stars check, and Samuel tells me I soucieux the air, which I am worried, I tell him that I just have to go to the toilet, the indexes with the door of my hand, which is occupied by Nico Samuel invites me to follow him downstairs to pee in the bathroom, I followed it, piss and go back with a satisfied smile on his face and a hand raised giovannipaolosecondo genre, as he saw me pull me a laugh of his, short, abysmal.

The characters, the major producers and guest stars appear and disappear over the edges (frames, walls, stairs, doors) of the shots of this house and time in ways that often suggest a sitcom, of which I, for both return to the abuse issue Truman Show, I-told-are unaware yet fun protagonist. Samuel I leave on a plane, I find Nico on the other, which emerges from the bathroom carrying the vapor, makes his line often dry, humor a bit 'harsh, exotic, a swallow of orange juice, you rinsenrra suddenly in his study, and then check out Joanna, I am a primordial gesture with his hand muttering a phrase in French-Polish, burst out laughing She pretended offense disappears behind the bathroom door. Unaware

Ciufoli a few, but sometimes because of the geometry of the events are so well oiled to make you say is true, it's all true, is a story already written, but I pretend not to believe it and the object of disbelief is not the story but the same array of fiction.

A year in this house, and seems like yesterday, really seems like yesterday, we had a dinner to inaugurate my new address, with the sunset who knows how to sit at the table made up with us, and that toward the dessert (not eat) gives his best. Someone among the guests, had the face of those who would go away soon, and judging from the photos it seems that he knew it.

go away: What's wrong? Soon, later, just in time or doing things slowly. But I'm staying here, I want to enjoy the spectacle of new sitcom banal sunsets and new, with lots of laughs from a pre-recorded beat and the next. And when, one evening, I'll have had enough of sunsets, then, as the other six characters, I'll leave behind the Mansion, and go in search of auroras.

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All as I was taken by the frenzy of new work,

I forgot to celebrate here on the first anniversary of my landing Sparigi.

I forgot to celebrate it in any location. It is a good sign, it means less to pack and I think most of the product, say so. In the end what ever year?

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Laid. ép.

and then I thought: why not write a little something new? is a bit 'not verbalize it properly. and phenomena, even within, there I was, on closer inspection, in recent times.

the theme of the evening is "vanity and frustration."

four days are in training at a company which deals with tricks, eschatology, scatology, boxes, scotomata, cars, motorcycles, overcooked, ointments, shots, sheets potatoes, biscuits. the truth is that I am not clear what it deals with the company, I admit. perhaps even in this Brancolo bruolo. but the term itself, company, which bothers me. in any language. when there is half of a company, before the whole there is a color, a font, a logo, a material and even a smell. if there are any faces are always or almost always sides with shit.

I look in the mirror and see the shower curtain, the toilet tiles, and, if approximate the fire, the fossil footprints of drops of water, or traces of dried toothpaste mixed with saliva. just behind us I am, to pretend nothing happened?, his hair is already a very long lap of the ear. Millimeter is a nuisance, if it were cm would be acceptable. my face is not shit. knows to be, if necessary, but that's what sucks.

there is a phrase that I like to say: "everyone has the intelligence it deserves."

is a paradox of mine, perhaps, but has its own logic, or at least: I could argue with a wide range of empirical evidence, but I should mention people and situations, and is not the time. what is time?

there is a time to mourn the limits of its processor, and a time for dirtying the collar of jujube. a time to go fishing and a time for the dough to the oven for breakfast. there is a time for fireflies and a time for cigarettes. a time for cigarettes and tobacco to be a time to rotate. There is a time to do shit on purpose and a time to do shit by mistake, a time to have her ass and a time to do things a certain way.

tomorrow afternoon will file a tough week and hateful.

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Café Absum

for months on the assumption of reflecting materials to merge the old and new in a blog novel. I'm not ready for the novel, but in the meantime it turned out the subject for a film by twenty minutes.

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CUP FINAL

TORINOGRANATA-TB & THE BASTARDS 3-1 (Dts )....

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Cup semi-final return

torinogranata-the team of freedom '2-1
tb and the Bastards-little cage

lakers 5-1 final matter:
torinogranata-tb and the Bastards

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Original Sins

who has never believed in God, not for a minute

cast the first stone who has not dropped a roll of toilet paper into the toilet bowl
cast the first stone who has never
eating meat and fish from the same plate

cast the first stone who has not cast the first stone throw the first stone

those who have never farted in metro

cast the first stone who has never insulted a stranger cast the

first stone who has never slept fourteen hours row
cast the first stone
those who have never loaded the mocha waterless

cast the first stone who has not damaged goods before buying

cast the first stone who never spoke without thinking
cast the first
stone who never thought without speaking

cast the first stone who has never heard the water splashing on the water butts are going to cast the first stone body

those who have nothing to add
cast the first stone

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Rooms 3

countless times I've talked about this room, the room above, my, here in the mansion of lilacs. But maybe I never praised enough the merits.

maybe I let myself be influenced by the fact that today, that yesterday I signed a contract that binds me so to speak-to-room for nine more months. is a good reason to love it.

dedicated ourselves the room has many qualities: it is spacious, has an inviting feel (when my disorder does not transform it into a corner of the abyss), has a ceiling at an angle, as they say, is in fact a kind of attic, but the top of the roof / ceiling is at least five feet from my head when I'm standing. there is a double bed, there is a sofa, a wardrobe is-too great-that purpose is to disappear behind a trio of sliding doors. There is a closet where I keep only his underwear and socks. There is a desk. There is a tiny library. There are other pieces that I could frankly thrown out the window. There is a coffee table square, green.

there are, in short, a lot of things, imagine it scattered 'around, more or less geometrically arranged between them.

defects? is a cold room in winter. whether it is hot in summer I can not say yet, when I moved up here in mid-July last year, was not really that hot, sparigi area.

and then there are drafts. and then the room and the house-all-is dangerously leaning: I said it once: it is a pyramid of Giza, a tower of pizah, this mansion. any mind would say that sublunary-foot-putting would notice the sloping ground.

but beyond all, and here is the point, beyond everything, I said, the greatest value of this room is something invisible. is that you get a bit 'mysteriously through a knot of twisted ladder, lagging. is that they really feel anywhere else, when you're here.

is a room that you remove the outside world.

is a room where you feel happy because you know that others in the house, do not have a room like this, hidden, secluded, and a bit 'mysterious, a bit' so.

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CUP SEMIFINALS

's team-Liberta' Torinogranata 0-2

Little Cage Lakers-TB & The Bastards 0-0

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.

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group to

little cage lakers 12 torinogranata 8 random utd 6 4 real Figueretes

group b

the team of freedom '13                                                                                   tb and the bastards 10                                                                                                                                             he principle db 7 eminflex IX 4

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team of liberta' Eminflex-IX 6-0 tb-Prince & the bastards db2-2

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tonight, the storm downed a glass in the kitchen. the wind ran to two hundred per hour, the mansion of lilacs whistled strong under his blows, the walls were sheets of paper mache. at one point I said to juicy: it seems that there are drafts, the air moves here.

and instead it was the wind that had opened the window, and swelled the curtain, the room looked like a ship without knowing we drove away.

juicy explained to me that there are two types of the sublime, the static and dynamic. and in doing so he cited some philosopher, probably German, I can not remember the name. then added that that storm, that giant cantaloupe, was dynamic. and concluded, I think, that something is sublime when you can admire the destructive power without suffering wrong, or something like that.

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Cup Standings Cup 5th day 5th day

group 'to' Little Cage

Lakers 9
Torinogranata
Random Utd 8 5 3
Real Figueretes

group 'B'

Team Of Freedom ' 10 Tb
And The Bastards 9
Prince DB 6
Eminflex IX 4

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CUP

group 'to'

Real-Figueretes TorinoGranata Random Utd 0-0
-Little Cage Lakers 0-0

group 'b'

Eminflex-The DB2-1
Prince's team Liberta'-TB and the Bastards 4-1

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QDP


today is the last day of January and does not publish a post from before Christmas. place since February of 2009 at least once a month, and I will not miss the first month this year and the twelfth month of the blog.

when I was young I could not stand the issues of principle. if "as a matter of principle I am prevented from doing something, I pissed like a hyena, I burst my head.

are sure that the "matter of principle, my educators, we sometimes have marched, like, I do not think my request would go to often clash with their moral sense, and certainly those issues were likely to willingly pack mask their insecurities, their concerns, their need to take time to reflect more accurately whether or not to be content. There can be, after all, but I am pissed off because in any case, I, my, I had no principles, or did not recognize my principles as such.

is funny, because if we put it would seem that the principle-which by definition is before the rest, it really is consequential to the upper of reason on emotion, adulthood on youth, the duty on the will (without considering the merits of the will, which I think is the point of balance between the latter two).

nowadays, which are adult or something, I'm happy to put up some first-person healthy and strong "matter of principle" in the face of assaults mèrdici the case and, above all, at other people's points of principle.

but I'd like to, if necessary, be able to renounce the principle thus understood, emotionally and return to the beginning of my training, so let's call it, to recover the right to cry and stomp in the face of injustice and sorrow, but also easy to anger, for anger that he be lost or fallen, fear or escaped the tragedy.

and this short post that speaks of lost emotions, is a post published only a matter of principle.

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group 'to'
Torinogranata-Random Utd 2-1
Little Cage-Real Figueretes Lakers 2-2

STANDINGS
Little Cage Lakers 8
Torinogranata7
Random Utd 4 Real
Figueretes 2

girone'b '
Tb & The Bastards - Eminflex IX 4-0
Prince DB-Team Of Freedom 2-3

STANDINGS
Tb & The Bastards 9
Team Of Freedom '7 DB 6
Prince
Eminflex XI 1